


Five (Six) Times Hisomu Enjoys the Effects of the Kizuna System, and One Time He Didn't

by theholychesse



Category: Kiznaiver
Genre: 5 times + 1 time, Angst, Christ, Humor, Multi, Romance, Sounding, YES THIS FUCK GOES THERE, a bit?? mostly its just. the horny man doing his thing, also??? congrats im the first fucker to fic in this fandom, fuck the cliche its for the fandom, its now 6 times plus 1 time, my boy fucked up, my other boys are fucked up, not canon after ep 5 or so and will never be canon. fight me, pre much hisomu getting off on e v e r y t h i n g, so a bit nsfw for that but aint much graphic, so are the girls, welcome to hell yall, yall know the shtick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-06-04 01:14:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6635017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theholychesse/pseuds/theholychesse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yoshiharu Hisomu is a masochist, clear and simple. A pure, complete, filthy masochist. For him, the Kizuna System is a blessing, not a curse. For him, it's a glorious thing to enjoy, to make his days better, and beautiful. For others, it's used to bond. </p><p>These are the stories of where his opinions ruled, and once, where they had to cave and make way for what everyone around him was saying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Yoshiharu Hisomu

The sun was bright, the sky was blue, and the air smelled clean and fresh, despite how the city was built on a goddamn _landfill,_ of all things. Sure, sure, it's a good base for the City of Tomorrow and all but--- _Still._ Imagine being a kid, and digging around in your sandbox, you've pulled out all of the sandbox, gotten through the layers of stone, you're stoked, you're drooling down your little kid-chin in excitement as your horribly sandy hands pull up the last stone and then just--

 

Trash. You meet trash, plastic and metal and centuries old banana-peels, with some ancient bacteria feasting on what remains of the organic gunk and about to make you shit and puke all over your cute little overalls,  and that glorious trash smell is all that assaults your miniature little nostrils. The sight of your soon-to-be hospital visit colours your vision in beautiful saturated colours.  Now, would that be fucked up, or what?

 

It would, Yoshiharu Hisomu concludes, as he gazes up towards the sky, the sun warming him, and the breeze ruffling the bandages hiding his favorite hurting spots from the world. His eyes are half lidded, and as drowsiness starts to overtake him, they drop more and more, until all he sees red and brown patches in his covered vision. The grass tickles him, under the thin layers of his clothes, and he can feel the bugs scuttle under him, alighting his nerves with the uncomfortable sensation of creepy crawlies doing their business, as well as feels the rocks and pebbles dig in painfully in the gentle patches of his body.

 

Hisomu squirms, from head to foot, and feels the pebbles dig and _drag_ through his clothes, through his skin, making his skin red and tearing through some skin layers, and making those glorious white lines that he can manage with his fingernails if he's careful enough with them. A pleased sigh escapes him, as his toes curl,  and he considers the distance between his hand, his thigh, and how much he's willing to continue this, what with the Kizuna sprawled over his wrist.

 

It is then that he considers the prospect of pleasure being shared through the Kizuna as well as pain, and also considers how _barren_ and _dry_ the other guys have gone, no doubt thinking these very same thoughts the moment they shoved their hands down their pants, or plugged up their vibrators, and listened to them whirl. (He doesn't anticipate that any of them are actually having someone _else's_ hand down their pants. They're peculiar animals, the lot of them, even Yuta, for all of his whorish behavior, blushes and stutters at any _genuine_ proposal.)

  
(Although that Agata and their dom-supervisor do seem to have something brewing and in the works---)

 

Well. Really, there's only one way to find out, he supposes.

 

And so, on the banks of the local river, with graffiti peering, and a child walking her dog watching with wide, brown eyes, the immoral character in their bunch climaxes, gasping and moaning, while bashing his head into the stiff ground repeatably.

 

(He gets told off by the group mom soon enough, though. From the blush on her face, he's not sure if she got any pleasure from it, or simply is _painfully_ aware of how sweet pain is for him. It was 1 o'clock when he jacked it, and, no doubt, everyone else was still at school. Ah--The thought of them feeling his feelings in school, in front of everyone, the teachers, he students, their peers and fellow Kizuna users is enough to cause his prick to stir just a bit, bit, _bit_ more.)


	2. Hajime Tenga

Summer is here. The cicadas are even more annoying than usual,  trilling and howling and splaying themselves like the sluts they are, the heat is rolling in, oppressive and thick, and to stop the annoying, bright, white light, all of the blinds are closed, and it's almost entirely dark here save for a few slivers that he can't get rid of no matter how much he tries.

 

Summer is here, and Hisomu has just read the letter that was shoved through his straining mailbox, confirming that he would be repeating the academic year. It's his third time, having this happen to him, and yet, he is still only seventeen years old.

 

Hisomu doesn't particularly care about reflecting, like any _traditional_ angst-ridden teenager. Doesn't care about reflecting on all of the notices he got before, on his mountain of trash and junk and papers outside, reflect on how his life is going, reflect on the picture that's still seared in his head, despite him burning it long ago, of a little dark haired brat with a too wide grin, too tall peers, and stark bandages melting into the pale flesh of his wrist. 

 

No, what he cares about is the roaring whine of his tea kettle, and the shiny chrome sounds he's got laid out on a napkin, arranged from one as thin as a pin, to one as wide as a thumb. But his true darling is laid out to the side, and it's a rubber catheter, one that's long and can curl and curl and curl, until his bladder feels stuffed and stretched as if it's full of liquid, stretched until bursting to the point where he can hit and play with the other end of his prostate.

 

A side effect, however, of all of this is that he has to wear sanitary pads in his underwear, and can't get out of the house for he smells like piss more than usually.

 

Hisomu drops the notice in the trash first, a great pile of decaying matter and plastic and metal (he's got to be patriotic to his city somehow, after all) which hasn't been taken out in at least three weeks. Then, with careless gusto, he drops the sounds in through the nozzle of the tea kettle, hand getting burned by the steam and hot metal in the process. The side of his mouth lifts, eyes shining, as his tongue sloppily licks the burning, aching flesh, and his teeth gnaw on that reddened flesh. He can't help it--He can't help it, can't help it at all. He shivers, his legs are weak, and his teeth and mouth give even more sweet ministrations to his burning, tender flesh, until the sensation of pain has blurred and mixed beyond measure with pleasure.

 

More than a minute passes by by the time he raises his mouth from his hand, and his teeth are red and lips swollen and red. His exhale is slow, and comes out as hot as the steam that's pouring out of the kettle. Honestly--The urge to sink his unkempt hands down into his pants, drag his nails into the flesh of his inner thigh, and come cum as hot as his breath, as hot as the steam, is so _thoroughly_ great.

But, sadly, he can only cum once a day, and he wants to _savour_ today's hedonistic ritual.

 

Pouring the contents of the tea kettle through a sieve, he tosses them around, to get them to cool quicker, humming something aimless and tuneless under his breath. He picks the smallest one out of the bunch, and holds it up to the not-light, planting a kiss on it, as he flutters his eyes shut.

 

The next thing he knows, there's light pouring into his apartment, and standing in the dust of his fallen door, is the neon rooster.

 

" _You horny fucking creep._ " Crows the bird, marching across the room, and holding Hisomu up by the frayed edge of his shirt, thrusting him up towards the ceiling. It's easy to fake a moan, long and feminine, and, just as quickly as he was raised, he's dropped like a sack of drowned kittens. His sound roll away on the floor, going to lands only god knows where, and Hisomu doesn't even have time to mourn one of his favorite toys before a squirt of pleasure and pain blooms in his leg, and Tenga groans.

 

"How'd you find me?" Hisomu asks, quietly, rising to his feet, picking at the torn skin of his hand. Tenga twitches, nostrils twitching like a bull's, but eyes more wary and cautious than animalistic and wrathful.

 

"Oh, I just followed the smell of bullshit and asshole pervert, and found you here, about to jab yourself with a goddamn pin." Tenga glances towards the floor, and then squints, taking a half step back, just to be careful, it seems, not to catch the pervert germs. Hisomu takes one step forward. "Is _everything_ you do catered around getting off? Fucking hell, Hisomu. Fucking hell."

 

"It's not a pin." Hisomu says. Tenga's massive eyebrows knit together, he opens his mouth, and raises is index fingers, like a stern mother about to tell her eldest off for cooking off brand macaroni and cheese. 

 

"You can't fucking lie to me, oh god, you're actually _lying_ to me when it looks like you were just eating out your hand--By the way, gross, gross, _gross,_ you kinky bastard--"

 

"It's not a pin." Hisomu takes another step forward. Tenga doesn't, but his eyes widen, brows still low, lips pursing and unpursing, as his fingers curl and uncurl at the same time. "It's not a pin. It's a sound. Do you know what that is?" Hisomu doesn't leave time for the other to speak, instead moving forward both physically, and with the conversation. "A sound is something your use for urethral play. In layman's terms, I shove it up my cock."

 

Hisomu's lips perk. He gets close enough to touch the taller, now, and does so, dragging a finger up along his belly. Tenga gapes, stumbles, and wheels back, but instead of ending out the door, he ends up at a wall. Hisomu moves quick, and traps him. To stop him from simply using his superior strength and legging it, he continues.

 

"I shove it up my cock. My cock strains, and I feel so much wonderful, wonderful pain. I shove it in deeper, I wiggle it around, and then I jack off. I can't cum with the sound in the way." Tenga's expression is growing more and more horrified by each of his words. "And when I'm ready for it, I replace it, and shove in a bigger sound. And then another one. And another one, until my cock is angry and red and my urethra can fit a chihuahua's penis. Y'know what my goal is?"

 

His hand lands low, and, in fact, Hisomu's theory is concluded.

 

"To be able to shove a dick as thick and big as your's into my prick, and can feel that thick cum mix with my piss."

 

Hisomu is punched so hard there's even more blood on his teeth, so hard he writhes and whines on the floor, and Tenga moans in pain too, as he stumbles out of the apartment, to wander far, far, _far_ away.

 

Hisomu comes to the thought of that _monster_ grazing the inner walls of his organs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't you hate it when you realize you're going to have six chapters, all named after characters, but there's seven characters in actuality
> 
> (also dont you hate it when there's so little canon material that u have to make up shit in ur second goddamn chapter)


	3. Nico Niyama

The midget is standing by his fucking door with a vacuum cleaner in one hand, and a bouquet of soft pink begonias in the other. Of course, he doesn't know they're goddamn begonias, because no one is in the know on these kinds of matters. But the urge to curl his lip is present just as much as the urge to gawk and gawk and gawk, until his brain _finally_ turns to slime and manages to wrap snugly around this conundrum.

 

"Nico's here to help!" She squeaks out, in that manner of hers that makes his ears _ache_ and his jaw to itch.She takes a step in. Hisomu hasn't given her any permission, aside from slow, languid blinking, and the limp set of his shoulders. She smells like roses and bubblegum. Wholly and disgustingly _pink._ "Nico's here to clean up your smelly, dirty place, and to dress you up in some proper clothes!" Her eyes shut, it seems, in utter and complete _glee,_ and she gives a little bounce, and takes a few more steps, but, ah--She hits a barrier. Namely, his body in the doorway. Her eyes open, and she looks up, perplexed, just like a little puppy who just isn't understanding the meaning of 'euthanasia'. She's lacking her usual miniature skirt, many of her decorations, and is wearing pink floral shorts, a loose tee, and her hair pinned up in a ponytail is accompanied by a big fat plastic rose to the side of her head that's just starting to tastefully fray, as if it'll complete the look.

 

She looks horribly bubbly, and, honestly, Hisomu has squatted in the dark like a troll for so long that the brightness is starting to grate his eyes.

 

Hisomu moves his mouth, reclaimed his lips muscles, as life courses into his hands, and they start to move, by his thighs. "What, What are--"

 

"I already told you, silly!" She looks up, grinning. She gives a little huff laugh, and just as she's about to try and speak her lines again, Hisomu interrupts her, standing up straighter, and firmer. She's not getting into his home, his _sanctuary,_ and rupturing the sacred sanctity of 4 years of complete and utter independence.

 

There's more indignation in him than any rage or fear. It's far too sudden, she's too small, and the sun is still _too_ damn _bright_ outside. It's a cool little feeling, like the trickle of bottled water sliding it's way down his hot throat. It's a drop. It's a drop, and he refuses to let it spread out even more.

 

"Yeah, no!" He smiles back at her, in return. It tugs on his cheeks, fake and flaky, and it shows off his yellowed teeth nicely. His breath doesn't smell nice, this he knows, and he knows Nico can smell it with how close they are. She doesn't even twitch.

 

"You, Nico- _chan_ , are _not_ going to invade my house, my privacy, and---" His tongue darts out to lick the corner of his mouth, as he grows animated, and her purple eyes blink at him. "--Clean! Clean and clean me up like, ah, ah ha, like some little street cat you picked up."

 

_(He doesn't need her pity.)_

 

His lips tug up even more, and he matches her blinking, as he fakes pleasantness. Her expression has fallen, the tops of her bottom teeth visible. "Why, why do you even _want_ to do this?" He asks. He knows the answer to that question, and his head tilts to the side, as his teeth bare with his expression. It's not wholly meant to scare, but, y'know, ' _not wholly'_ also implies there's a part of him that does want to do so.

 

She still hasn't stepped back.

 

"It's because you want to have a deeper bond, for us to be better _friends,_ right?" On the flowers, her pinky finger twitches.

 

Her eyes are wet, and she blinks fast, but her shoulders merely shift, and not dance rhythmically to the beats of a sob. "W-Well--Yeah! We're all friends, right?" Hysteria is slight in her tone, and, oddly enough, she seems to stand on her tiptoes, almost, as if a slightly smaller difference in height would have her take the upperhand. Just to get rid of any satisfaction, he takes a step forward, and their chests meet.

 

She squeaks, and, a small tear comes out of her left eye, salty and streaming down her cheek. Alarm makes her eyes grow wild, as an _impulse_ , as an _idea_ slips into his head, and his long, lanky limbs, wrap around her, and force her to drop the vacuum cleaner. It's a restraint, in the truest sense, and as his neck rolls around, eyes looking down at her, her face seems to grow pink, not from embarrassment but from--From anger, it seems.

 

Something shifts behind her cheeks. It's her teeth. She's clenched them. His fingernails, uncut, long, and pale, claw at her skin, hidden by a thin layer of cotton. She shudders, now, but instead of fear, she seems to grow even more anger in that little frame of hers. His hands move south, gentle and faint but still gripping flesh,  and she goes carefully, carefully still.

 

Now, he's not sure, but it's almost like she--

 

"Hisomu-kun. If you won't let go of Nico-chan, I'm going to hit you."

 

He scoffs. He doesn't believe her.

 

Hisomu doubles over after there's a jab at his solar plexus, and he's swept to the ground by the littlest legs he's seen on a 16 year old. He's wheezing, sporting a massive hard on that's sprouted out of thin fucking air, and drooling into the ground. He can't fucking _move_ , and a little voice speaks into his ear. "I want to be your friend, Hisomu-kun. You're really nice, really. There's just--" An equally little inhale. He can feel soft hair tickle the back of his neck.

 

Oh god, he is so _fucking hard._

 

"There's just going to be some limits, alright?" She stands. She picks something up, as Hisomu tentatively rolls to his side. She drops something rustling off, and leaves, closing the door gently behind her.

 

She left behind the flowers, and their little yellow eyes giggle at him, gasping at the possibilities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is it obvious i adore nico?? i dk. like. i felt like. she and tenga are kinda. 2-D? so. so im ma. imma add my own embellishments here. just. a Touch. and girl just swiped a fucking limp guy to the ground, it's not as impressive as hisomu's rock hard ass made it out to be.
> 
> also. begonias??? really cute?? but also real big metaphor LM A O (lmao stands for lonesome marxist assmuncher orgie, in case any grandma out there wondering)
> 
> also sorry for late shit but. hopefully?? that gon be fixed now. gonna shoot for daily shoot but god knows that probs aint gonna happen this shit of yesterday.


	4. Honoka Maki

Honoka Maki is a shit. A shit in every single way that matters and in every single way that doesn’t. Her hair is the colour and, no doubt, the texture, of shit. Her face’s features—A nose, eyebrows, a mouth, look like chunks of decayed matter in the giant shit which is her face. She dresses like shit, she talks like shit, she looks and acts like utter, utter, shit. And she is shit.  
  
Hisomu loathes her.  

He doesn’t particularly care about her secret, or why she’s so prickly, or any of that sentimental garbage that the team mom would preach on and on about.

After their summertime escapade in the mountains, things lull down for a while. For a solid week there is no great event, no particularly large bit of pain that Hisomu inflicts on himself, and it all seems so horribly plebian for a while that, at some point, as the heat was baking him alive, he thought:   
  
Why not stir the shit up?

At some point over four o’clock, there’s a ring at the shit’s door, she opens it, blinking at him, as he preens and grins right in front of her.   
  
She closes the door in his face, or, tries to. But his fingers are too quick, worming their way into the crack of the door, and when the door comes down on _his_ fingers she hisses, as he makes a shaky groan.

“What do you want.” She growls, opening up the door a pinch, fingers twitching but she wasn’t clutching them, like he was, and every other person linked up to the Kizuna is.

“Oh, ha, ha—Nothing much.” He doesn’t speak anymore, just happy to be left grinning. The shit blinks, then makes a shallow inhale, and straightens out.

“Then get off my property.” And, quite honestly, Hisomu considers it, for a moment. But then he smiles sweetly, shakes his head, and leans in closer to the door, and when he exhaled, he saw Maki’s nose wrinkle. Hisomu might be wonderfully handsome by the sheer force of his genetics, it didn’t mean that he had to maintain proper hygiene if he didn’t want to.

Hisomu hears someone, back in the house, scuttling around. Like another person, by the sounds of it, and there’s a flash of a man with dark hair before he disappears, and, oh, this is _juicy_.

“How about I don’t, Maki-san.” He coos. Her face twitches, and she eyes his hand that moved from being cradled against his body, to sitting back on the groove where the door slides in. His fingers are pink, and soon, will swell _fantastically._ “I mean—It’s just not right, yes? To not invite me to your loving abode when I’ve taken the effort to come on in. Please, show a bit of kindness to a poor soul like me.” A pause. Hisomu’s grin went feral.

“Do you even know what kindness is, Maki-san?”   
  
There’s another blast of pain and he whimpers, and she hisses, out of pain, yes, but more out of rage as she pushes him and his fingers out the door, slams the door, and judging by the sounds that come from it, locks it and shuts it as tightly as Yuta’s boy pussy.

“Oh, let me in, darling!” He whines, his breath coming out quick and fast. The injured hand is cradled, once again, but he’s also got another hand, did you know that?  
  
His other hand that has been sitting in his pocket, the whole while, clutching a small little blade, that now, with the dark wood door staring at him in the face, slices open his palm.   
  
He can hear Maki’s breath turn harsh and her pained noise from here, and hears her father gently padding on the hardwood floor, and ask her what’s wrong.

  
He pulls the knife out, and makes thin, teasing lines over his shoulders and upper arms, before making light cuts, that shouldn’t bleed much. When he moans, he makes sure that the entire _floor_ can hear.  
  
“ _Oh_ , Maki-san, when will you love just as much as I do!”

The shit throws open the door, but by that time, he’s already down by the stairs. He’s sprinting down them, avoiding steps and effort and skirting past them, while he hears the thuds and enraged breath of Maki-san right after him.   
  
He laughs all the way to the metro station, where the last glimpse he has of her is a sweaty, red-faced little bloody shit. He meets her eyes, and winks, pointedly. It doesn’t even matter if she didn’t notice. Not really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m. Kinda back?? Idk, i feel like I might finish this but also not so. just in case i do, blame my life. but no, the only reason why this even exists is because its 6 am and im feeling creative. also sorry if its not as exciting as the other ones but. Im Easing Into This My Dudes
> 
> also: the reason why this fic wont be strictly canon is because i dont want to watch the actual show itself. i originally started the show because a friend recomended it to me but, they were kinda really toxic and were a generally bad person so i broke it off. and watching more kiznavier and other anime that they've recomended just either doesnt appeal to me, or makes me feel ill sO
> 
> the more you know ;)


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